


How Did I Forget You

by stargazinggirl773



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec has wings, Alec is an Angel, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Soulmates, post breakup, soulbonded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:41:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13426050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazinggirl773/pseuds/stargazinggirl773
Summary: Alec, Magnus, Clary, Jace and other shadowhunters visit an "eccentric" warlock to see the future, because there are rumours of Valentine's resurrection and a demon army.  Instead, they get to learn more about a past that Magnus and Alec unknowingly share.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns mortal instruments  
> Warning: Don't read if ur affected by descriptions of abuse  
> Notes: This was intended to the first in a series of one shots... and it got way too long, as is my habit in writing. Clary is only used for narrating b/c I hate her, and pls keep reading to get 2 Malec, cause there's a long intro, sry  
> Also, I just want to mention as I have before, that I imagine the characters to look very different than tv show or movie, maybe similar to Cassandra Jean's drawings (Magnus is slightly taller than Alec), and I encourage readers to do so 2, if ya want a look inside my fangirl mind ;) thx  
> Let me know what ya think!

Clary was really starting to hate Henry.  Just when she’d thought that no one could get more obsessed with glitter than Magnus… there was Henry.

The shadowhunters had no choice but to ask the short, blue skinned warlock for assistance.  No one knew for sure, but there were rumours amongst the terrified downworld that Valentine would come back from the dead, with an army of demons by his side, and Henry was very skilled in revealing the future (and the past), through his infamous swirls of mist, his particular form of magic.  Not very useful, Clary thought to herself, as the large crowd of half angels and quite a few downworlders, also eager to know their fate, filtered into a large, cavernous cave underground, stalactites hanging from far up above.  

She clenched her small fists tightly, wishing that she could’ve stayed at the institute to practice drawing and creating new runes.  It was the only admirable skill that she currently possessed, because fighting, unlike Isabelle, was not a shadowhunter skill that came naturally to her, and she hated being the weakest link in missions.

Alec walked beside her; the handsome teenager was tall and lean, his incredibly strong arms visible through the rolled up hoodie he wore.  Since this wasn’t an official mission, he wasn’t required to wear gear, instead opting for his own particular fashion choice: dark, drab and dreary.

As she peered up at him, she could see the darkness under his brilliant blue eyes, hooded by heavy lashes and his inky black tendrils of hair, wavy in the humidity of summer in New York.

Though she wasn’t very close with him, she knew the breakup had affected him strongly, and although it had been a couple months, he was increasingly frowning and sullen whenever she tried to speak with him.  

As the last few shadowhunters gathered inside of the cave, Henry spoke to the crowd.

“Hello darlings! So glad everyone could make it.  I dearly hope everyone has a had a wonderful night, it’s been quite a dreary past few days hasn’t it?  Valentine coming back won’t be good, no no no no no!” He shook his head, actually pouting.  Henry’s voice was very nasally and high, quite likely to make up for his shortage in height.  The absurd amount of glitter in his spiked up hair, about a mile in every direction, rained down around him like multicolored snow as he shook his head.

Magnus, who was standing nearby amongst two other warlocks, a man with dark skin, and a woman who was coloured pink, rolled his cat like eyes, arms crossed in the long, black cloak he wore.

“What shall it be first, ladies and gentlemen?  Perhaps a starter up for the evening? Some light topics?  Oh, I know _just_ the thing.  Everyone is excited nowadays for the newest fashion trends.  I know I am!”  He laughed loudly. “Let’s take a look, shall we”.

All of sudden grey mist began to form along the walls of the cave, creating a translucent film in front of the wall of rock.  As a scene began to play in the smoke, Clary’s gut lurched as she was transported into the mist, through it, and into the _future._

Tall women were walking along a sleek black stage, models, swaying their hips with each step.  All of them wore colourful, long dresses, covered in countless types of feathers, varying in width, height and structure.  Clary could, somehow, intimately _feel_ the emotions of the girls, pride and confidence, amidst crowds of critics, cheering fans, and flashing cameras. She could also _feel,_ impossibly, the pain spiking up through each model’s legs as they walked across the long, gleaming platform, atop stick thin, uncomfortable high heels, which dug into their heels. A sense of vertigo travelled through her as she was sucked out of the reality, out of the mist, and back into her own body.  She took a dizzying step backwards, fighting her urge to vomit.  Not all of the downworlders- three unfortunate werewolves- were as successful as her, however.

“Ah, that was so exciting!” Henry exclaimed, his dark eyes shining and his teeth- _‘Were they covered in glitter?!’-_ flashing.  “All of those feathers look absolutely gorgeous.  A shame about the birds however.” He frowned, before smiling unnaturally widely once again.

“What’s next I wonder.  Ooh, I wonder if spray on-”

“Enough” Nathan Stormbrewer growled, head consul of the part angels,his voice gruff and authoritative. “Show us Valentine-”

“Awww.” Henry whined, and Clary’s eyes widened. “But what about-”

Magnus, who had apparently had enough, interrupted. “Just stop, Henry, you’re acting ridiculous.”

Alec, who was standing next to Jace, his parabatai, jerked his head up at the sound of Magnus’ voice, before looking at the ground, jaw clenched and eyes stormy.  

The shorter warlock’s eyes narrowed and his smile slipped off.  His face was so serious that it shocked Clary that he was the same laughable, foolish man she’d seen just moments before.

“Magnus!  How long has it been… a century?  You don’t look too well.” Henry remarked.  It was true, Clary realized.  The colouring beneath his eyes mimicked Alec’s, so dark they were almost bruises, but were less visible because of his honey brown skin. Magnus’ eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to respond, before Henry’s dark eyes flashed white for a split second, and he smiled sadly, knowingly.

“Ahh. I see. You’ve just experienced a breakup. How tragic. True love is so rare these days, don’t you agree.” Clary breathed in quickly, and looked at Alec.

“Silence!” Nathan commanded. “This is not important, we must-”

He was cut off once again by Henry “But it is.  You see, for him to lose Alexander Lightwood is devastating.  They’re soulmates, and demon and an angel.  A warlock and and _the_ angel of death.”

The cavern was so silent that you could hear water dripping from the stalactites above.  Clary finally found her voice and managed to speak up first. “He’s a what? Angel… angel of death?!”  

“Why of course!” Henry exclaimed. “And soul bonded to the warlock. Alexander has had multiple lives, where he has encountered Magnus at various ages.  None of which he remembers of course, which is only natural.”  He stared at Alec. “This is the only life time were the two of them are the same age.”  

Clary stared at the short man with glazed, green eyes.  He blew out his breathe, irritated.

“How do you suppose Magnus survived the whole ordeal with his human father.  He was too young to have fully developed his powers at that time, I myself was sixteen.  No no no, Alexander saved him.  Like I said, _soul bonded_.” He directed his statement at Magnus, who was standing stiffly, completely still.

“You said ...angel, though, so ...where’s his wings?”  asked Clary.

Henry looked upward,as if asking _someone_ for patience. “Ignorant shadowhunters.” he muttered, before explaining: “They only begin to grow on him when he turns nineteen.”

Gasps were heard throughout the cave, along with whispers of ' _angel? '_

“It’s a rather excruciating experience, to be honest” Henry remarked, offhandedly.  

“Liar!” Nathan exclaimed, red faced, who had remained silent through the exchange until now.”How can you possibly-”

“I’ll _show_ you…” said Henry, ominously, eyes gleaming.

Clary was once again extracted from her body as she flew through the mist and into a field beside a farm.  Storm clouds were gathering above, and she could distantly hear yelling.  As the scene came into focus, she could feel a tight, uncomfortable pain around her wrist, a large, calloused hand.  A young boy with familiar green gold eyes, their pupils narrowed like a cat’s, was pleading with his father, tears streaming down his tanned face, curly black hair tangled in his lashes.  The older man beside him was large, with thick, roped arms, cold eyes and a cruel mouth.  He was pulling Magnus by his thin wrist through the field and to a nearby, murky lake.  Panic flooded through Clary, not all of it her own, as the boy realized where his stepfather was taking him, while his mother hung lifless in the barn.

“You’re no child of mine, demon!” The man, the beast, roared, before throwing and holding Magnus beneath the icy water.  He flailed, adrenaline coursing through him, and some other sensation, magic, flowed throughout his veins.  But he couldn’t access it, and his lungs were starting to burn, and he could barely make out his father’s blurry face, and the large hands were crushed the bones in his narrow shoulders, and he swallowed water, and the edges of his vision were starting to close in, and-

A black streak flashed above him, effectively jerking the man up and off the boy, before  delicate, long fingers reached into the water to pull Magnus up by his shirt.  

Magnus coughed and gagged, struggling to breathe as he forced the fluid up and out of his lungs.  Tears were stinging the corners of his eyes, and when he _finally_ managed to take his first deep breathe of fresh, sweet air, the burning ceased.  Through red eyes, he managed to look up at the man crouched before him, offering encouraging, quiet words to the little boy. The young man, closer to a teenager in age, offered a pale hand to help Magnus stand up, and he managed to do so on shaky legs.  Magnus looked up at the stranger before him, tall and athletic, with cerulean orbs partially obscured by a messy wave of midnight hair, and with magnificent, enormous black wings sprouting from his back, partially enfolded to keep them from dragging on the ground.

 Without thinking, Magnus rushed forward at Alec, burying his wet face into Alec’s abdomen, and wrapping small brown arms around his waist, or as far as he could reach, before silently sobbing.  In response, Alec kneeled down once again, and the boy cried into his broad, firm chest, arms enveloping his neck.  The angel remained silent, rubbing slow circles into the boy’s back, while cradling the back of his head, hair still dripping with cold water.  A sizzling, black goo was nearby, the remains of the older man after the angel of death had touched him.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally wrote another chapter 4 people who wanted to see more. This was intended to be a one shot, which is why this is rly short, cause I have essentially no ideas, and why the first chapter is gonna be the best, in my opinion.  
> Anyways, here ya go, hope u don't hate it

Henry had shown them the future they had initially sought for, eventually, and once again, Alec was the sole shadowhunter involved in Valentine’s defeat.  

Everyone was able to witness the blue eyed shadowhunter’s transformation, from a lanky teeager, to an increasingly muscled, skillful angel of death.

He was lethal in the air, black wings beating powerful against the backdrop of a fitting blood red sky, while shadowhunters fought down below against the ocean of demons.  Through the slices of his gleaming seraph blade, which flashed like lightning, he cut down all of the winged monsters, before rocketing down to earth and soaring over the roaring, black army.  Wherever the tips of his wings grazed, demons fell - and even exploded in a rain of blood and innards-cutting them down like stocks of wheat.  

Through the mist, Clary could see the widening of Valentine’s dark eyes, before their whites became tinted with red, after Alec drove his sword through his chest.  Her father sank to the ground, and his skin turned black and bubbled as he yelled, until all that was left of him was foul smelling fluid.

Once she had been returned to her body, Clary could no longer fight it, and she threw up on the floor of the cave.  No one really noticed, however, their eyes wide and mouths agape, in which the werewolves’ yellow canines were visible.

The strange warlock had disappeared, and Clary breathed out in relief; it was disturbing how childlike Henry had been, and his eccentricities were more abnormal than most.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the dark figures of two shadowhunters as they quickly moved towards the exit of the cave, one seemed to be chasing after the other.

In response, the rest of the stunned mass of downworlders and shadowhunters alike shuffled afterwards, murmuring and whispering.  

As a cool breeze landed on Clary’s face, blowing over her dark red hair which had stuck to the back of her neck, she realized just how humid it had been beneath the ground.  

She shuddered at the thought of returning, and of the future she had seen.  Alec was the angel of death, and he wasn’t as mortal as he seemed.  It was January, Clary realized, and if what Henry had shown them was true, it would only be a few months before he would grow the enormous, black wings she had seen in the mist.  

 

***

 

“Alec!” Jace called out to his parabatai, as he stalked off into the night.

His golden locks seemed to shine like a beacon in the moon’s light, while Alec would have blended into the shadow’s, if it weren’t for his pale skin.  Jace cursed Henry.  He had thought that Magnus was a little weird, but Henry had taken insane to another level.

 _That warlock is lying_ he thought furiously as he struggled to keep up with his parabatai, but even then his stomach churned at the thought, and at the truth.  The warlock wouldn’t be able to lie, to fabricate a future reality so realistic, and Jace knew, through the heart wrenching, painful experience, that everything that happened was true, or would be.  

With a burst of speed propelled by frustration, fear, and panic, Jace  managed to catch up to his parabatai, clamping down on his shoulder before spinning him and shoving him against the wall of a building beside them.  

“Stop running away! Talk to me!” he exclaimed, face strained and contorted, as if caught between crying and yelling.

Aec seemed to have no such quarell, and his face remained blank, while his blue eyes shined.  

He shoved back against Jace, sending the boy stumbling backwards. “I can’t, I can’t!  It’s not- it’s not real!  Nothing that that _freak_ showed us was real, so just…. so just shut up!” he hissed, and turned away again.

Before he could even manage to take a step into the shadows, the blonde boy latched onto his back, arms wound tightly around his best friend, his face pressed into the back of the teenager’s neck.

“No… no.  You know it’s real, Alec… I know you do.  I can _feel_ what you’re thinking.  Don’t run from it, don’t run from _me_ ” he whispered wetly, and the back of Alec’s hoodie became spotted with tears.

For a moment, Alec’s muscles relaxed, on by one, and he leaned back into the familiar, comforting weight of his parabatai, shaking slightly.

But only for a moment, before his memories came rushing back to him, and his veins turned to ice.

“ _A rather excruciating experience...”_ Henry’s words rang in his ears _,_ along with the intimate feeling of ending a shadowhunter’s, Valentine’s, life, of soaring through a sea of unending _evil_...of cradling a crying, little boy’s head, and feeling his silky wild curls between his fingers…

Alec broke his friend’s hold in a split second of movement, forcing his arms off of him, before turning around to punch Jace in his eye socket, sending him careening backwards.

Glimpsing at his parabatai’s shocked, hurt expression, Alec turned and sprinted away, dashing between buildings and traffic, and into a secluded alley, out of the blinding lights of the city of New York.

He wasn’t followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Malec's up next.:) Also, I rly appreciate reviews/comments


	3. Chapter 3

Alec was leaning against a brick wall, enveloped in heavy shadows, but he could still hear the never ending noise of the city in the distance.  For once, however, he was grateful for the noise, for the distraction.

He clenched his eyes shut and pressed his face to his drawn up knees, trying to breathe in deeply.   _“...excruciating...angel of death…_ ” played in his head.  

“He’s a liar, he’s lying…” Alec muttered to himself, over and over again.  There was no way he the warlock could’ve been telling the truth.  Up until a year ago, he hadn’t even killed a demon, too busy looking out for his brother and sister, although he’d just experienced slaughtering thousands of demons while suspended with _heavy, massive_ wings.

If anything, his parabatai should’ve been chosen.  Jace was the perfect warrior of heaven, with his angelical, golden appearance, which only ruptured once he opened his mouth.  And Alec… Alec wasn’t special.  He was a shy shadowhunter, rejected and broken hearted over a _downworlder_ , he thought nastily, ignoring the ache that went through him.  He was a great archer, sure… but nowhere near Jace’s level with a seraph blade, the symbolical weapon of angels.  

Laughing to himself, he brought up his sleeves to wipe them across his eyes.  It was funny that people thought he was smart: how intelligent could he really be if he believed, even for a moment, that someone like him could be chosen by heaven.

Still chuckling faintly to himself, he raised his head and leaned back, squinting up at the sparkling sky above.  

 _An angel of death...yeah right,_ he thought, even when the phantom touches of small, thin arms pressed against his exposed neck.  They dripped with muddy, cold water, and shook a little as they were racked with heart wrenching sobs.

“Alexander has had multiple lives. This is the only lifetime where the two of them are the same age.”

Had he met Magnus before?...when, and how?

 _Why can’t I remember!_   He dug his fingernails into his palms until it stung. It wasn’t possible though, it couldn’t be possible.  Shadowhunters were mortal, there was no way he could have lived before, _and_ not remember it, he finally decided, cradling his injured hand in his lap. _It’s impossible._

Anything was possible though, in a world with part angels, demons, the mundanes’ fictional creatures come to life... and magical warlocks, the only explanation for the footsteps approaching him, golden eyes drawing nearer. Of course Alec had been tracked.

“Why am I not surprised that this is where you would choose to go, Alexander” a smooth voice said, only frayed a little around its edges.

Magnus looked around them, scanning through the night to look at the puddles in the narrow street, and when he turned his face Alec could see his clenched jaw through half lidded eyes.  

The warlock turned back to the shadowhunter, but by then the blue orbs had shut, and Alec had turned his head partly away from the tall man.

“What are you doing here”, he mumbled tiredly.  After his last encounter with the warlock, filled with anger, frustration, tears and pleas, Alec was wary, and determined to maintain some of his remaining dignity.  After all, if Magnus had just been more open and less secretive with his past, Alec wouldn’t have been forced to look for information from acquaintances.  

The black haired teenager’s internal justification was just that, however, internal.  The breakup, and their relationship, was over, and bringing up old arguments would only bring forth more pain, something that Alec was still working through.  Archery had helped, somewhat. As a plus, his aim was now impeccable, so much so that Jace had jokingly commented, while trying to cheer his parabatai, that he’d never get on Alec’s bad side again.

Long, dark purple fingernails dug into two palms until Magnus exhaled, answering; “Why do you think?  I… after what _he_ said, I thought that we should talk.  It’s probably not- I know that what we saw wasn’t real, but…”

The slightly shorter boy grinned slightly, eyes dark. “Wow, and to think that I thought you were eloquent.  Try that again, and maybe make it resemble a sentence.”

Yellow irises narrowed, and Magnus practically growled.  Alec wondered what would happen if he told his ex boyfriend how much he resembled a jaguar…

Running a hand through his glitter free, dark hair, he spit out; “Look, I’m trying okay?  I figured I’d track you down in whatever place you holed yourself up in-which happens to be this dark alley-” he flung out an arm to gesture at their surroundings, “Just to make sure that you wouldn’t go and run away and maybe even kill yourself-”

“Kill myself?” Alec interrupted, pushing himself against the wall and on his feet, livid.  “From what I recall, you’re the one who was _dying_ until I saved you!” he yelled, before breathing in shakily and continuing; “I’m not some pathetic guy for you do chase after.  I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity!  Hell, I’m the _angel of death_ , didn’t you hear?” Alec grinned sardonically, but his voice cracked and his smile was a mile from reaching his eyes.

Magnus’ lips parted slightly and he started to reach for Alec, whose ears were starting to burn at his slip.  

He spun around and attempted to escape into the safety of the darkness, of loneliness. “Just fuck off... _warlock.”_ he hissed, already beginning to disappear.

In a movement of what could only be designated as cat-like grace and agility, Magnus lunged forward, snaking his caramel hand around the shadowhunter’s forearm, which was taut and stiff, tendons appearing beneath porcelain skin.  

“Wait, Alexander… just... wait.” The downworlder swallowed, closing his eyes momentarily.  

Alec was tense, poised to dislodge the arm and flee, but remained motionless for the time being, half of his face shadowed.

“Stay,” he murmured, “This, all of this...it doesn't have to mean anything...just- just let me be there with you."

Blue met gold, and for an eternity, they stared at each other unblinking.  

Alec knew that the man, teenager, in front of him was his soulmate, but he didn't feel any different.  No new feelings had emerged, no sudden realizations in his heart, nothing had changed the fact that the warlock in front of him had kept secrets, and then broke his heart and left him...

But he didn't run, didn't disappear into the shadows, and that had to mean something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh, I just can't seem to get my endings right. whatev, reviews appreciated as always ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I changed ending of ch3 btw cause I didn't like it, so if u wanna check it out... wink wink). anyways, here's what I could scrape up out of my brain and manage to turn into a long ch, in my standards. many thx to readers and awesome comments/ideas! they rly inspire me 2 continue w my stories

For a mundane, birthdays were a special occasion, one day in every year where one could celebrate and enjoy the life that they had been given, surrounded by friends and family and filled with joy.  However, Alec supposed he wasn’t a mundane, which was made even more evident by the second. In fact, he was faintly surprised that he could still think about birthdays while feeling like he was being ripped apart.

Everything hurt, his head was pounding, muscles tearing and bones shifting, and his blood was literally burning as it coursed through his body, and out of it, turning his back into a bloody mess. It was now eleven o’clock at night, September twelve, almost eighteen hours after this had all started. 

Fuck you Henry, Alec thought distantly, but it was hard to hear over the sounds of his own ragged screams.  The pain was blinding, turning his vision white, as some sort of a mass gradually grew and expanded from his back from the bloody mess of skin and flesh.  Judging by the gasps and shouts he had heard before the fire became too much, it wasn’t as glorious they had all expected. Fuck, even Alec, arguably the most sensible shadowhunter of his age group, had assumed that the transformation into an angel wouldn’t feel make him want to end it all right then and there.  Screw his destiny, screw Valentine and this stupid fucking prophecy forced upon him, Alec just wanted it all to stop. Before he went crazy and did something utterly mortiphying like begging for death, although, he was sure he’d already done that. He couldn’t be sure: black spots were beginning to dance in front of him, looking like a modern piece of art on the white canvas.  

Beyond the strong, metallic scent in the room; blood, lots of it, Alec could smell the familiar antiseptic odor of the infirmary room.  Ah, so that’s where he was. 

He could remember playing with Jace when he was young, when they were both accompanying his parents and several other adult shadowhunters on some sort of mission, when a demon had attacked him from behind.  He didn’t remember what kind of monster it had been, only the shock of seeing a large black spike sticking out of his small body, staining his shirt red, and several voices yelling. Then there was a gap of darkness, followed by days spent in the dreaded infirmary.  Needles were stuck into him, countless iratze runes applied, a constant beeping noise, but the worst was the cold and loneliness-

A hoarse cry broke him from his recalling of the past and Alec struggled to locate it’s source when he realized that he had made the sound.  He was whimpering now, his body twisting and writhing wherever he lay, and he managed to peel his eyes open to beg someone, anyone, for death.  The monochrome clouding his sight had gone, leaving blurry shapes and colours. However, lines of black fell over his eyes, his hair, obscuring the outside world.  Maybe it didn’t matter though, he thought. Maybe there was no one out there with him, and he was left utterly helpless and isolated in the sea of his own thoughts and never ending agony. 

When the fall finally came, Alec welcomed it, and remained unaware of the hand that had been gripping his own tightly, as if the connection was a desperate lifeline of hope.

 

***

 

Magnus sat hunched over in the hard, wooden chair beside Alec’s bed.  The boy- his soulmate, his mind kept correcting- was finally lying still and quiet on the blood stained bed. Tendrils of his black, matty hair sticking up in every directions, but most it it fell over his closed eyes, the skin so pale and translucent that one could almost make out the spectacular blue orbs beyond. 

After almost a day of Alec yelling in pain and pleading for death, everyone was exhausted, worn out by hours of attempting to comfort the shadowhunter in vain, who thrashed out at every touch, too far gone to understand any consoling words spoken to him.  

Whatever was growing out of Alec wasn’t the wings depicted in ancient nephilim, leather bound books, holy and golden; it was the complete opposite.   The structure emerging from the flesh of Alec’s ruined back, too marred for iratzes or magic, was hard and white, like bone. It had began as a demented lump, stained with blood, which had soon grown and stretched.  It had extended outwards and branched off into two thick parts, connected to thinner, longer cartilage, like the branches of a bare tree. It seemed excruciating, it was excruciating, but this was just day one, Henry had said in an excited manner, teeth gleaming as he watched from afar Alec’s straining body. There were still two days left, he’d continued, before Jace had attempted to run him through with a seraph blade.

The blonde was currently sleeping on the other side of his parabatai mattress, head resting on folded arms, and only his golden curls were visible. The parabatai rune on his bicep was flaring, and Magnus wondered if he could, in part, feel what Alec was experiencing.  He shifted a little, loosening his hold on Alec’s hand to turn it over and lace his fingers through Alec’s. They were slender and long, their true strength hidden from most until they curled around the strings of bows with ridiculous draw weights, sending arrows slicing through the air and into their targets with an aim sure and true, with no room for error. 

Soft footsteps padded into the room, but Magnus didn’t bother to turn and look until they stopped at the foot of Alec’s bed.  

Clary was holding her sketch book in front of her like a shield, her green eyes wide in horror as she stared in front of her. Magnus looked away from her and down at their entwined hands, he knew what she was seeing.

Alec’s back had been bandaged in tough, white material since other methods were useless as the muscle continued to shift and tear apart to make room for the skeleton like wings, which had grown so long- about seven feet- that they had to suspended by thick cords from the ceiling. The wires, according to Henry, before he had made his hasty escape, kept them from hanging down and damaging the structure: it really was a frightening scene to witness.

“I- do you think… is he alright?” Clary asked quietly, eyeing Alec’s sleeping form.

Aside from the quiet, gasping intakes of breath every so often, Alec remained undisturbed, somewhere far away.  

Magnus’ catlike pupils tracked a trail of glitter along the stained sheets, shimmering stars in a maroon sky, before closing his eyes and leaning back. “I don’t know”, he finally answered.

Swallowing, Clary spent a long moment gazing uncertainly at Jace. Then she turned quickly and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Bringing his other hand up, which had been resting in his lab, Magnus traced along the back of Alec’s pale arm, intimately remembering how it had enveloped his small, wet body. Suddenly, as his finger trailed over a point just above Alec’s forearm, an electrical jolt went through him; he’d found their soulmark. 

The last thing Magnus remembered was the brush of Alec’s lashes along his cheeks, before dizziness overcame him and the world abruptly blinked out. 

 

***

_ 1728 _

_ The air around Magnus was hot under the scorching Indonesian sun, settling down and pressing against him, even more so than the crowd of people around him. They towered over the little boy as they shouted at each other and bustled about, all of them with destinations in mind.  The only way to make his way through the mob of people and to the market was by putting his pointy elbows to use, jabbing them into people’s ribs.  _

_ Finally, after successfully crawling between several pairs of legs, Magnus emerged from the smelling throng of bodies and in front of a long line  of stalls, stretching out as far as he could see on either side of him. They were wooden shacks, supported by thin beams, and covered by leaves or bundles of straw.  The one to his left displayed large piles of oranges, bananas and papaya, while smoke arose from grills to his right, cooking cubes of chicken and goat on small, sort sticks, smothered in all sorts of colourful sauces. But the scent of fresh bread had drawn him here, along with his rumbling tummy, where dozens of golden loaves and buns sat, just waiting for him, on the front tables.  _

_ The store keeper was a short man wearing a wide straw hat, and the folds of his cloak only barely covered up his round stomach. When he lifted his arms to serve an elegant Dutch lady, who the rest of the customers seemed to part around, dark stains from his sweat were visible, although his squinting eyes were much darker, watching Magnus from the corner of his eye as he krept closer.   Magnus waited until the lady began to pay, handing a couple metal coins to the fat shopkeeper, before his small hand shot out and grabbed a piece of bread; a soft, twisted brown one, sprinkled with dark seeds and sugar. _

_ “Anda anak kecil kembali ke sini!”the man screamed, but it was too late, and Magnus darted back into the crowd.  _

_ More yelling could be heard behind him, as well as a crash as the man presumably attempted to chase after him.  Magnus was thin and fast after years spent on the streets, but the man was much bigger than him, able to move people aside easily.  He continued to shout as he chased after, huffing and puffing throughout on his short legs, and Magnus was starting to wonder if this little morsel of food was worth his life.  He hugged the loaf of bread to his chest, heart racing.  _

_ He dared to look behind him after a short while, and found two taller, mean looking men running ahead of the shopkeeper, with ugly yellow smiles on their faces. Magnus sprinted for his life along the edge of the mindless masses, trapped between the moving barrier of warm bodies and the stone wall of houses on his left.  Something flashed above him, but he could hear his pursuers footsteps getting closer, and he continued to flee even as his limbs started to tire and his lungs ache.  _

_ “Up here!” a voice shouted, and Magnus spared a glimpse upwards.  There was a boy, maybe twelve, a little older than him, racing along the rooftops.  _

_ How did the boy get up there? How was he supposed to get up there?  _

_ “I can’t!” Magnus called back, breathing hard.   _

_ His surroundings were a blur of orange and brown colours, and the boy was the palest white he’d ever seen, or ever would see, if he didn’t run faster. _

_ “Sure you can,” he replied, and pointed at something while running.”Climb on those boxes!” _

_ There were several empty crates piled against the grey stone wall of a house about a dozen meters away, reaching to a height about halfway up the building.  There were no there escape routes that he could see, just continuous barracedes, both living and nonliving on both sides. If he didn’t take this chance, he would be caught.   _

_ Drawing on his last reservoir of energy, Magnus flew to the crates, skidding to a stop on the stone pavement of the market square before using an arm to haul himself up onto the first crate, the bread under the other.   _

_ They were stacked into a pyramid with three levels, and Magnus had just reached the third when a hand grabbed his ankle.  He cried out and suddenly all he could see were worried blue eyes, and a hand stretched out towards him as the boy lay on down on the roof.   _

_ He kicked out frantically and the man let out a curse and let go, falling down from the crate he stood on.  _

_ “Pass that over so I can pull you up!” the boy said, nodding to the bread.  Magnus hesitated; this was the first meal he’d managed to find in four days, if he lost it… _

_ He gave it over, and the boy disappeared for a second before reaching with both hands and pulling up on Magnus’.  His legs scrambled against the side of the building as the men screamed at him, then the boy moved so that he could lift him up under his arms.   _

_ With a grunt, they fell onto the roof, both of them breathing hard.  After a moment, they got to their feet, and the boy said “Follow me.”  _

_ The gravel they ran on crunched under their sandals, but it was easy enough jumpy form rooftop to rooftop, flying over the people below. _

_ Eventually, they came to stop, on a rooftop high above the rest on the outskirts of the city, and the buzzing of the marketplace had long since receded.  Still panting hard, Magnus rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath, warily watching the strange boy. He was sitting on the edge of the roof as his legs dangled over, smiling slightly as he stared upwards. _

_ “You’re crazy, kid, stealing from Abas Ashrafi; he would’ve skinned you alive.” He laughed aloud, musical notes in the sudden quiet.  “That’s the most fun I’ve ever had.” _

_ Magnus said nothing, choosing to sit somewhat away from him as he munched on his prize quietly.  He shut his eyes as he bit into it, tasting the sweetness of the roasting, and the soft inside of the baked dough. The boy was still leaning back on his hands next to him, staring off into the horizon, when Magnus offered him a piece.   _

_ The boy looked at him, and when he smiled, his eyes seemed to shine even brighter. _

_ “Thanks,” he said. “My name is Alexander, by the way.” _

_ Magnus stared at him, assessing.   _

_ “Magnus.” _

Magnus breathed in sharply as he swam back to the surface, out of the memory, and to the moonlight in the window of the infirmary. He could still taste sweetness in his mouth, a stark comparison to the copper in the room, when something above him captured his attention. His yellow eyes widened, and he looked up to see large splotches of black beginning to grow from the infrastructure of bones: _feathers_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what u think: I have 1 more memory I want 2 talk about but they aren't rly exciting, Idk was inspired this flashback, it's not even that good but whatev. also sry for the gruesome description of Alec's wings, just realistically I think the bones would grow 1st, then feathers


	5. Chapter 5

In total, the large, feathery appendages on his back had taken longer to form than Henry had said they would. Fourteen hours longer to be precise. Now, at the end of it all, Alec’s skin felt raw and his bones tender from where the wings had ripped themselves out and reformed out ordinary but apparently mutant skeletal and muscle tissue. His back was constantly bleeding, prompting an exchange of filthy bandages for new white ones at least twice a day.

  
The place where wings met his skin throbbed, an aching pain that ceased to relent, and Alec felt like crying. He’d done of that for the past several days though, so he simply leaned back and clenched his eyes shut. He felt like he was living a dream, his mind still struggling to accept the fact of all that had happened to him and how his body had changed: even his bones felt lighter. Guess so I can fly, he assumed.

  
By the Angel, flying! But Alec couldn’t imagine himself getting even two feet off the ground: he couldn’t control them. The two enormous masses weighed him down and dragged on the floor, the icy tendrils of pain too much to contemplate lifting them or even moving them a little.

  
When two of the Clave’s most influential shadowhunters, an old woman with yellow hair and a short man, had examined him and stretched them out (they’d spanned the infirmary room) he’d passed out. He figured he’d rather deal with the uncomfortable weight than more, unfathomable pain.

  
If there was some other life for him, without the crushing responsibility and visions of hordes of demon armies hunting him, Alec would run towards it as fast as he could. Curl up somewhere warm and quiet, where no one could ever find him, and sleep forever.

  
“Alec, I can’t find Jace.” a shrill voice jolted him from his dreams.

  
He opened his eyes. Clary was jogging towards him, red hair streaming behind her.

  
He closed his eyes again. “He said he was going to talk to Henry about some things.” His exact words were, I’m going to break every single fucking bone in its body, but Alec chose to keep that to himself.

  
“Oh… alright.” She sounded distracted, and when Alec glanced up he saw her staring behind him. He let out a huff of air and waved his hand. Taking his gesture of reluctant permission, Clary sat down beside him. The girl slowly reached out and gently stroked her hand along the longer, primary feathers, the bottom portion (the officials had given him books to read about Jonathan the Shadowhunter, the first angelic nephilim). He turned away, focusing his gaze elsewhere. They were in the garden in the back of the institute, a large open area of green in the summer, dotted with a number of willow trees and a large oak around its perimeter. He could remember shooting arrows into its trunk just a few weeks ago, the satisfying thunk as each found its mark embedded deep in the dark wood. It seemed like a long time ago.

  
His mother had told him this morning the official order of the Clave, a fire message sent straight from Idris. He was to begin his training a week from today, once he had grown accustomed to the wings. Would he ever? He would report to the Great Hall in Idris via portal, and begin to master the seraph blade, the weapon seen in Henry’s vision, with the addition of some courses with his bow and arrows, his particular skill set as of this moment. She was crying at the end, while his father was silent, so he had left for the garden.

  
Perhaps before that moment, he had had some hope that this would all disappear, and that he would wake up. Now he was disillusioned, and the prospect of something as real as leaving his home for Alicante reminded him of the visions in his nightmares. This was real, this was happening, though no one knew, not even Henry, precisely when.  
He had to be ready.

 

The daunting prospect of training was even more frightening once it had begun. It was vigorous, brutal even. Up at dawn, ten miles of running, breakfast, seraph blade and archery practice, lunch, then at night, studying the magic that he’d possessed in the past, in the vision, that had allowed him to slay Magnus’ father…

  
It was embarrassing at first, having thousands of shadowhunters, the citizens of Idris, watch him, their eyes following him as he fumbled with his bow. The judgemental faces of the most elite shadowhunters, those who had taught at the shadowhunter academy at Idris before being assigned to mentor him, and solely him. The Academy was still open, but it seemed as if everyone knew that at the end, it would depend on his success, and his triumph, to determine their fate.

Some days were spent studying Valentine and Sebastian's style of fighting, the demon that possessed Sebastian, anything that they knew about the two fallen shadowhunters set on destroying their world. Not surprisingly, since Nephilim were strict, perfunctorary bookkeepers, especially since Valentine was infamous, there were records on almost everything. Alec learned about the chakrams Valentine had first picked up, before advancing to kindjal swords, longer, narrows blades which were lethal in his hands. Sebastian preferred seraph blades, and the energy of the demon within him would be almost impossible to disrupt and break. Unfortunately, there was next to nothing on an “Angel of Death,” which Henry had termed. Jonathan the Shadowhunter had wings, true, but he didn't appear to possess any of the deadly magic witnessed in that moment in time by the muddy lake. No one knew where it come from, how to control it, how to bring it forth, and therefore if Alec even still possessed it. Countless times he was told by warlocks to look inside himself, to feel within for a pool of warmth which they described as their own magic. But Alec felt nothing, nothing unfamiliar or strange, none of the unearthly powers that he had once possessed in another life.

  
After almost two months of everything, Alec could feel himself breaking, something deep within. Instead of magic, it felt like his soul, his esential being, morales, his identity… Instead of Alexander Lightwood , he could feel himself forget the name, and become the weapon he was being made to be.

Maybe it would stop if he could finally fight, and either die or triumph, and the monotonous cycle could end. But each evening the sky was the same pastel shades of pink and orange, mixed with purple, a stark contrast to the blood red sky they had all seen, and so the wait continued. He longed for it, yearned for it all to be over, but then at night when the dreams came he prayed that the day would never come, and lie still with nausea for hours.

When the nightmares did't come he dreamed of golden green eyes with slitted pupils, set into the face of a small scared child with wet hair, and young boy up on a rooftop, and finally a teenager, who was kind and intelligent and sitll in love with a vampire. During his mornings runs, which left his joints aching and thighs burning, Alec could forget. He could be free and let himself go until all he felt was the morning chill, the smell of pine as he ran through Idris’ surrounding forests and around the deadly lake, and the sounds of his footsteps.

The training continued, until his body was lithe and agile, made up of hard, lean lines of restrained strength, waiting to be unleashed. He knew now, without an trace of arrogance, that he was stronger than Jace, than any other Nephilim. There was no doubt. But there was no feeling of accomplishment or even triumph. For there was nothing else, no one else, just the lead up to the final terrifying battle that kept him up at night and soaked with sweat , in which Valentine would exact his revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love comments:) sry for the wait


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